Nostalgic

Ñôstlågia

The waiter came to their table for the hundred and eighth time, bringing with him the seven hundred and fifty-sixth bottle of wine, which Aziraphale himself graciously took from him. Even though the Angel knew the waiter couldn't hear him, he thanked him anyways and looked at the figure across the expensive table. Aziraphale had propped Crowley up with another table's tablecloth, tieing him down to the chair so he won't fall over. He figured out that even though he couldn't touch anything in the scene, other objects could influence one another just fine. So, he used the two objects he came into the nightmare with, chair and glass, to manipulate the world around him.

 Aziraphale also figured out that the events before him seemed to be in a continues loop. Starting with the waiter bring him wine and ending with Crowley touching his hand. However, as the scene played out, the reality of the situation faded away, causing things in the time loop to distort in unearthly manors and each time the scene reset, most of the carnage from the last play was still incorporated. Aziraphale thought if this was going to be the only memory he was going to live in for the rest of his days, he might as well clean up a bit. In other words, the Angel had dismantled his chair and used the legs to correct the ugly the loop tried to toss his way. Aziraphale also considered spicing up his dull existence too, so he wrote down with nail and wine, different conversations he made up in his brain and played all parts, by himself, out loud, each time a reset occurred. Each loop made the scenario seem less and less like the first, and with it, The Angel's memory of the original scene seemed more and more distant and unreasonable.

"Angel," Aziraphale started trying to imitate the demon, " Going out with you is great, ya know. However, I've had so much of this fucking wine, I've forgotten why the fuck your here in the first place or why all this started altogether?", Crowley seemed to be in the joking mood today and Aziraphale always appreciated his humor. Couldn't remember whenever he took the figure in front of him not as enamoring.

"Oh, dear, I haven't the slightest of clues." The angel smiled as the ceiling began to shake again. The hundreds of bottles scattered around began to thrash wildly but Aziraphale so used to it he shrugged it off and continued. He didn't know how to answer his question of existence but he could change the subject. "I do remember a time when we use to go out and not to the same spot. I think we went to France a lot, or maybe Italy... Anyway, we use to do a lot of crazy things. We used to go to duck ponds and feed the geese."

"Oh really? Never thought - ."Crowley twitched as Aziraphale spoke and the distraction from his make-believe made him want to cry. He could cope with shaking bottles, windows shattering, chandeliers falling, and even other couples in the restaurant convulsing at their seats, but he could never cope when the nightmare got to Crowley. 

 Aziraphale stopped himself from going to the Demon's side, and sat on the floor, face in his hands. He didn't want to do this anymore. He saw the insanity and want everything to stop. Wanted the simulation to end. Wanted to see real people, any sort of person at all. He would even be happy to see another Angel if they'd popped by to watch his torture. Aziraphale began to wonder if this was really the trial Gabriel wanted to put him through. The ArchAngel would love to see him suffer any sort but Aziraphale wasn't convinced he'd put him here. He always thought the best of people even when they were trying to put him down. Maybe, he thought he needed to repent for his trust in everything.

 Being naive didn't get him far after all; stuck in a loop. Aziraphale knew now he was in a fate worse than Hell, Purgatory, and if his knowledge of the occult served him right, he'd be here forever and a day till God judged that he was either good enough to go to heaven or bad enough to actually go to Hell. In the meantime, he was left to roam meaninglessly through the same day over and over again. Aziraphale couldn't remember how to get out though, and as he balled up on the floor of the destroyed Ritz, he wished that somewhere, somehow, somebody was praying for him. 

-----

Crowley hunched over the Bible, the Quran, the Vedas, and a pamphlet for Scientology, looking to see if anyone at all was able to describe the extent of power Demon Lord's possessed. It had been nine months since Beezelbub took Aziraphale away from him. He'd posted up in his Angel's book shop after that and had been trying his hardest to find out, through Aziraphale's many many books, what happened. All he figured out though, was that humans' had little to no idea a solid understanding in what evil was capable of. Some humans thought somewhat similarly. Most people thought Demons could possess people, make deals, haunt places, and blamed them for a whole nest of horrible things. Crowley knew that was fact cause he'd done it before. On the other hand, many more people disagreed on the topic. Some thought Demons were purely shrinks and government officials of a satanic degree. Some people that they were purely the act of evil or karma. The whole mess of religions made zero sense to him.

The demon looked up from his books to the carnage the book shop had been turned into. He didn't know what to do. He had read, in this short period of time, more books than he had ever seen in his six thousand years. Frankly, Crowley didn't see how Aziraphale found anything in all the pages, and he didn't see how any of these pages could help him find Aziraphale.

 Suddenly, a thought popped into his head. What if Aziraphale wasn't in a place but an idea? Demons weren't very imaginative to Crowley's knowledge. Why would one short Demon Lord do something totally irregular when they could conjure something they saw before? It was total copyright and Crowley finally knew that he had to get real dull if he'd were to understand the thoughts of someone who would use the same trope again in again. He felt a slight pain at the nostalgia of the Dark Times on earth. Demonic dukes and a particular Demon Lord came up to the surface more often to rot the living and drag them to Hell. However, they started a new tradition with a certain group of devote that became one of there favorite pass times in the sixteenth century: Dragging people to a loop of time called Purgatory, and convincing people they need to either pay their way or pray their way out of repetition. It was sort of a limb, but Crowley figured Beezelbub wouldn't do anything less if she couldn't kill the adversary that turned the champion of Hell on Earth towards good. 

Now he just had to find out if Hell wanted him to pay in cash or wishes.